Olicity Flash Fiction
by MysteriousTwinkie
Summary: My collection for the Olicity Flash Fiction prompts given by SmoakandArrow on Tumblr. Each one will be written, edited, and posted in one hour. With an exception for the first one. :P
1. Chapter 1--Into the Wild

_**(A/N: As soon as I saw this prompt, I thought of Aragorn in Fellowship of the Ring, when one of the hobbits asks him where they're going, and he says, "Into the wild," and then swaggers dramatically out of the frame. :P I couldn't get it out of my head, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to use this prompt at all because of that. So I just went with it. I feel like it might be a little OOC for Roy, but we've hardly seen him interact with Felicity at all, so it's mostly guesswork anyway. It worked for my purposes.)**_

**FF #1: Into the Wild**

Oliver was a shameless eavesdropper. There was just something about hearing what other people thought of him when they didn't know he was listening. It was hard to sneak up on anyone in the Foundry, though. The metal stairs were impossible to traverse quietly. He had to settle for the rare occasions when Diggle and Felicity would show up not knowing he was already there. It hardly ever happened.

He was way in the back, behind a stack of pummeled training dummies and broken equipment, looking for a stray arrow that had gone far wide of its target because his phone had buzzed in his pocket right as he'd taken the shot. Familiar footsteps clattered down the stairs. Felicity. Her stride was measured and careful when she wore heels. Felicity and . . .

"Look, I might be the sidekick, but I'm not the hobbit sidekick," Roy's voice carried from the other end of the room.

"What's wrong with Sam?" Felicity asked. An innocuous question, but the steel in her voice implied that she would skewer Roy if she wasn't happy with his answer.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just . . . that's who you think I am? Really?"

They reached the bottom of the stairs. Oliver could hear the _pock-pock-pock_ of Felicity's heels as she crossed the room.

"Well, now that I think about, Sam doesn't really fit," she said. "Which character has the most anger issues? Frodo? No . . . Gollum!"

"Blondie, do not even speak such blasphemy."

"Boromir?"

"He had daddy issues, not anger issues. He also died with about eight arrows sticking out of him," Roy pointed out.

"Three, actually," Felicity corrected him. "Which is only two more than you experienced, so it's a situation that's not totally unfamiliar." Oliver could hear the smile in her voice. "What about Diggle?"

"Big guy who doesn't say much . . . that huge orc that kills Boromir?" Roy suggested.

"Oh, no way. Literally all he says is 'Find the halflings!'" She said the line in a bellowing, gravelly voice that triggered a coughing fit. When she'd recovered, she continued. "Dig talks more than that, he's way better-looking, and he's not a bad guy."

"We can't all be good guys."

"Why not? There are enough good guys in _Lord of the Rings_ for all of us," said Felicity.

"Maybe . . . Elrond?" Roy said. "Except less judgmental."

"Oh! I know who you are!" Felicity cried. "You're that kid, Haleth."

"Who?"

"Haleth. You know, that kid swinging a sword before the battle at Helm's Deep."

Roy huffed. "I'm a kid?"

"Well . . . yes."

Oliver was grinning now. It was all he could do to keep quiet and not alert them to his presence.

"If I'm the kid," Roy went on, "then you're saying Oliver is Aragorn."

"Totally," Felicity replied. "The first time we see Aragorn, he's wearing a hood pulled down over his face and acting all shady."

Oliver's eyebrows went up.

"And he's kind of a jerk at first," said Roy, "yelling at the hobbits and stuff."

"Hmmm . . . then maybe Diggle's more of a Gandalf to Oliver's Aragorn," Felicity mused. "Dispensing wisdom and telling Aragorn to buck up and embrace his destiny."

"And you?" Roy asked. "There are only a couple of choices."

"Do _not_ get me started on the number of female major characters in _Lord of the Rings_. It was written in a different time—we must not judge." She said it like it was a mantra she'd repeated to herself more than once.

"I know who _I _think you are, but who do _you_ think you are?"

"Eowyn," said Felicity. "Which makes Laurel Arwen. And if you tell anyone, I will trash your credit score and ruin your rental history."

"I disagree," Roy said. "Not about that last part, because I absolutely believe you could destroy my life with that tablet of yours."

"Then who? Rosie? Or do you think I'm more like one of the dudes? I might be a little Pippin-ish. He does talk a lot and have a knack for getting himself in trouble."

"You have it backwards," Roy said. "I don't know if Laurel's Eowyn or Rosie or . . . maybe she's not anybody, but that's not the point."

"What _is_ the point?" Felicity asked.

"You think you're Eowyn, which is cool. She's all right. She's a total badass with that creepy guy who rides the worm thing—"

"The Witch King of Angmar," Felicity supplied.

"Shut up. Your nerdiness is distracting me from my big speech."

Oliver smiled as he thought of all the ways Felicity could make Roy pay for telling her to shut up.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked.

"Eowyn spends most of that movie pining for Aragorn."

"I do not pine for Oliver!" Felicity said loudly.

"I know! Stop interrupting me!"

Oliver could hear Felicity stomp a few feet and then dramatically drop into her chair.

"Fine," she said. "Just so we're clear on how much I'm not pining."

"You are a little," said Roy. "You didn't used to, as far as I could tell, so something must have changed, but I don't know what."

Oliver knew what had changed. Three words. Those three honest words couched in a lie.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Felicity said, sounding not at all convincing.

"Felicity, you're smart and badass like Eowyn, but when it comes to Oliver, you're Arwen all the way. You just don't see it yet."

She laughed, a sound that usually brought a smile to Oliver's face, but this time it stabbed at his heart a little.

"The fact that you think I'm kidding proves my point," Roy said.

"Roy, Roy, Roy. Don't be ridiculous. Arwen and Aragorn are like Lancelot and Guinevere, or Romeo and Juliet. Epic, destiny, happily ever after . . . Wait, maybe those aren't the best examples. But you know what I mean."

Oliver could picture her gesturing wildly. The more worked up she got about something, the more animated she would become. "We're not . . . I'm not . . ." She sighed. "Oliver definitely doesn't see me that way, and I—"

Oliver dropped the arrow. He was never sure afterward if it was an accident or if he was trying to get caught on purpose.

"What was that?" said Roy. "A rat?"

Felicity drew in a sharp breath. "I'm all for defying gender stereotypes, but if there's a rat in here, I'm going to climb up on my desk and stay there until you get rid of it."

Suddenly Oliver really didn't want Felicity to catch him and realize he'd heard everything. She'd be embarrassed and feel awkward, and he wouldn't be able to mask his own feelings. Already his control was slipping, and to his dismay, he heard footsteps approaching. But they weren't heels.

Roy stepped around the broken training dummies, clutching the half-staff Sara used to practice with. His eyes widened as he saw Oliver, and he opened his mouth to speak. But Oliver shook his head and held a finger up to his own lips. He shook his head again, in case the kid hadn't gotten the message. Roy turned to go, and as he brushed past, Oliver muttered so quietly, it was less than a whisper: "You're right, by the way. She's my Arwen."


	2. Chapter 2--Game On

_**(A/N: It is seriously hard right now to get one full, uninterrupted hour. So in the spirit of adhering more to the rules, I sacrificed editing time for writing time, so this isn't as clean as I would prefer it to be. Repetition, -ly adverbs, etc. But oh well. I will survive, and so will you. :P)**_

**FF #2: Game On**

Shouts coming from within the lair caused Oliver to tense, readying himself for a fight. When he realized that one of those voices was definitely female, he burst into the room, knife drawn and fists up. What awaited him as he rounded the corner was not the scene of chaos or danger that he'd expected.

The med table had been cleared off and moved to the center of the room. Two clusters of Dixie cups, set up like bowling pins, were arranged at each end. Felicity and Roy were standing at opposite ends of the table. There were damp spots on the front of Roy's ever-present red hoodie, and Felicity had kicked off her shoes. Roy was holding up a Ping Pong ball and squinting. As he raised his arm, Oliver stepped into the room.

"Are you two playing beer pong?"

Roy's throw was off. The ball hit the middle of the table at a weird angle and went spinning off to bounce on the floor a few times before rolling under Felicity's workstation.

"Dammit, Queen, I'm already losing," Roy grumbled. "I don't need your help."

Felicity reached down the front of her dress and withdrew a Ping Pong ball. She tossed it in the air and caught it like she was preparing for a tennis serve. Then she threw it. With a _thock_ and a splash, the ball landed in one of only three cups left on Roy's side. He sighed dramatically, fished out the ball, dropped it in a cup off to the side, and downed the contents of the original cup.

Oliver approached the table and sniffed the air. "Please tell me you're not using my Russian vodka to play beer pong," he said.

"Hiiiii, Oliver!" said Felicity. There were twice as many cups remaining on her side, but she was swaying on her feet. "There wasn't any beer. Your super-secret new hideout isn't located beneath a club with a fully stocked bar."

Oliver turned and gave Roy the full power of his glare. The younger man held up his hands in surrender.

"Hey, it was her idea, I swear," he said.

"Right. Felicity?"

"Yes, Mr. Queen?" She bounced a little on the balls of her feet, but it was too much for her already unstable balance. She tripped over her shoes and tilted backward, but Oliver caught her before she could fall.

"Was this really your idea?" he asked.

She nodded solemnly. "I didn't have anything better to do, and Sir Broods-a-lot McPoutypants over there needed some cheering up. You know, if there was a World Series of brooding, youuuuu," she drawled, poking his shoulder, "might actually have some competition."

Oliver frowned. "How much have you had to drink? I thought you were winning."

"How long are you guys going to stand like that?" Roy asked. "I mean, it's cute, sure. You look like that World War Two picture of the sailor dipping that girl back and kissing her. But we have a game to finish."

Oliver looked down. His hands were still on Felicity's waist, and at some point she'd twined her arms around his neck. She was indeed angled back in a pose more reminiscent of a dance floor (and that iconic photo) than anything else. He set her upright and let go of her. She teetered to the left, then caught herself by grabbing the edge of the table.

"Well, I've only missed twice," she said, following it up with a triumphant grin. "But Roy bumped into the table and knocked over a cup and we decided not to refill it. And then I drank a couple to boost his morale because he was losing so badly. It was pity imbibing."

"Thanks, Blondie," Roy said sarcastically. "I'm actually kind of enjoying myself, though. Apparently alcohol is like truth serum for her," he said to Oliver.

"It's a Smoak family trait," Felicity said gravely. "But you said you wouldn't say anything about what I said." She frowned. "That's a lot of 'saids'. Anyway, you promised that—" She lowered her voice to imitate Roy. "—whatever is said in the lair stays in the lair."

"We're still _in_ the lair," Roy pointed out.

"Have I had this conversation before?" she asked. "My head hurts."

"She's drunk, and she's _still_ beating you?" Oliver asked Roy.

"She didn't say anything about being a beer pong savant before we started playing," the younger man said.

"It's just geometry," said Felicity, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm also really good at pool. And mini-golf."

"But not very good at holding your booze," Roy replied.

"Now that's just rude. You say that like it's an insult, like it's a skill to be honed, not a matter of biology and weight ratios."

The table was the only thing holding her up, so when Felicity whirled away from it, she crashed face-first into Oliver's chest. "Ow." She straightened her glasses. "Did I not cheer you up?" she said to Roy. "Are you not entertained?"

He rolled his eyes.

Oliver gripped Felicity's arms to steady her on her feet. "Why don't you declare victory, and I'll take you home?" he suggested.

"I win? Yay!"

Oliver had to support most of Felicity's weight on the walk to her car. He'd seen how full those cups were—he was shocked that she was still mostly upright because she was such a lightweight. Once he'd gotten her into the passenger seat and buckled her in, she reached out and grasped the hem of his sweater as he straightened up.

"Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ask me anything on the way home, okay? Roy wasn't kidding about the truth serum thing. I just feel really, really honest right now, and I don't think you can handle it."

"Relax, Felicity," he said as she let go. "You wouldn't be telling me anything I don't already know."


	3. Chapter 3--Too Far, Too Fast

_**(A/N: I tried really hard to stay within the hour limit this time, so it just kind of ends a little abruptly.)**_

**FF#3: Too Far, Too Fast**

"I don't think you understand what I'm trying to do," Oliver said.

"Oh, I totally understand," Felicity replied. "You want to do something special for my birthday, but you've never done a birthday on a budget, and you're struggling because in your world, special means expensive."

He stared at her. "Well, that's . . . accurate. In an unsettling kind of way."

"Unsettling?" Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Do I scare you?"

"Absolutely."

"You already know that I will destroy you if you dare to throw me a surprise party," Felicity said.

"You did mention that. Repeatedly."

"I've seen the kind of parties you throw. Expensive ones. And either nobody shows up, or everyone comes who really shouldn't all be in the same room together." She slowly spun in her chair. "To me, special is just something I don't do every day. So basically that means anything besides falling asleep in front of my TV and eating take-out while watching you do pull-ups. Not that I do that."

Oliver arched an eyebrow, smiling.

"Okay, I do that sometimes. But I have to look at something while I eat, and you're always right there." Her cheeks were getting pinker by the minute. "My point is that it doesn't have to be a big production. In fact, I'd rather it wasn't. Can't you follow Dig's example? He didn't make a fuss."

"He gave you cupcakes," Oliver said. "And a book. Wrapped in newspaper. Two days early."

"It was an amazing book. It's out of print. And those cupcakes? They were little bites of heaven." Her chair came to a stop, and she leaned back and crossed her legs. "Even if they weren't, that still would have made me feel special without embarrassing me."

"What about that vineyard you mentioned the other day? They do wine tastings." He tried for a casual tone, one that wouldn't betray how much time he'd spent thinking about Felicity's birthday, how many lists he'd made and then crumpled up, how often he'd covertly consulted Diggle.

"That place is closer to Coast City than it is to here," Felicity pointed out. "I don't want to be too far out of town when Diggle Junior could arrive at any time."

"Fine, then let me take you to dinner at Table Salt."

"And we're back where we started," Felicity said with a sigh.

"It's not that extravagant," Oliver said.

"Have you seen their reviews on Yelp? Table Salt is Starling City's trendiest proposal spot. That's moving a little too fast, don't you think?"

Of course it was too fast. It was a date disguised as a birthday present. It was a chance, the first chance he'd had in weeks, to convince her that the idea of them together wasn't unthinkable at all.

"Oliver? I was kidding."

He blinked, looking over at her. She was fiddling with her earring, but her eyes found his and held them.

"It was a joke," Felicity continued. "A bad one, I admit. Let's just forget I said it."

"If you think everyone will be staring at us, waiting for me to pull out a ring, then we can go somewhere else," Oliver said. "But we're going to do _something_, you and me. I'm not letting your birthday pass by uncelebrated just because we couldn't agree on what to do."

Two days later, Oliver called to cancel the reservations he'd made at a Greek restaurant that had ocean-side seating. Some other diner would get the chocolate cake he'd specially requested, and his gift, a thin silver chain with an arrow pendant, stayed in his pocket. Instead, he'd bought Felicity a chocolate doughnut from the hospital cafeteria. She pretended to blow out a non-existent candle and then ate the doughnut in about three bites because she hadn't eaten in hours.

Diggle Junior finally graced the world with her (_her_—it was a surprise to everyone) presence just minutes shy of midnight. Felicity said that the baby being born on her birthday was the only present she needed, but Oliver didn't believe that for a minute. When he dropped her off at home afterward, it was quick work to slip the box with the necklace onto the table just inside the door when her back was turned. Once he'd left it, he didn't linger, just called out his goodbyes and hopped down the steps two at a time, humming.

Later, stretched out on the bargain-find couch in his new (and tiny) apartment, Oliver listened to the message she'd left while he was on the road. Her voice was teary.

"How dare you, Oliver," said Felicity. "That was sneaky and sweet and you really should have stuck around long enough for me to thank you. You suck and I love you . . . I mean . . . Oh, you know what I mean. Platonic. That's a weird word. What does Plato have to do with it? Anyway, how dare you . . . and thank you."

Oliver dubbed it the How Dare You message and listened to it five more times that night, making sure to save it. Platonically.


	4. Chapter 4--Alone With You

**FF #4: Alone With You**

They thought she was still asleep. It was the only explanation for them having this kind of conversation in front of her. Or at all.

The flight from Lian Yu to Hong Kong had been bumpy, to say the least. Felicity'd had to pry her fingers from the armrest when they landed. By the time they'd gotten on the ARGUS plane, she was exhausted. But not so exhausted that she didn't wake up when Dig and Oliver's murmured conversation escalated into an argument.

"It was _not_ part of the plan," Dig said.

"Which part? Which plan?"

"Not funny, man," Dig replied, thought Felicity hadn't heard even a hint of amusement in Oliver's voice.

"There's nothing funny about it when you go off and make plans of your own. Plans that totally go against what we've had in place for Felicity from the start."

She was all ears now that she knew they were talking about her.

"Dig, you know that isn't going to work anymore," said Oliver. "She wouldn't stand for it."

"Damn right she wouldn't, but that's not the point. This is about your little one-eighty."

"My what?"

"Your complete turnaround," Dig said. "From saying you'd do whatever it took to keep her safe, to putting her under the sword of a madman." Oliver tried to speak, but DIggle cut him off. "And you did it without telling me, which I am plenty pissed about, believe me. But what's worse is that you did it without telling _her_. That girl has abandonment issues. She basically has no family, and she is love-starved. Do you have any idea the kind of damage you inflicted with your fake declaration?" He paused. "I'm afraid to leave her alone with you now. God knows what other stupid, reckless shenanigans you might get up to."

Felicity couldn't keep from smiling when Diggle said "shenanigans." She hoped neither of them was looking at her.

"It wasn't—"

"Oh, _now_ you've got something to say."

"Never mind," Oliver said. "I'm sorry. That's what you want to hear, isn't it?"

"I want her to hear it from you," Dig said.

"She will," Oliver promised. "Someday."

Felicity's leg, tucked under her, had fallen asleep during her nap and was just turning to pins and needles all over. She bit her lip to keep from squirming.

"Someday. Right." Dig sniffed. "She's not a damsel in distress, Oliver. She's strong, and there are things that matter more to her than you do. One of these days you'll push her to her limit, and she'll walk away. Will you be able to handle that when it happens? Because that's where this is going, and I tell you, man, if she walks, I walk."

Felicity held her breath.

"Are you serious?" asked Oliver, his voice rough as if they were the first words he'd spoken in days. Maybe saying _I love you_ without meaning it had burned his throat somehow.

"Yeah, I'm serious," Diggle replied. "You need her more than you need me, so if she takes off, I'm sure as hell not sticking around to see what it'll do to you."

Oliver was silent for a long time. Her leg was killing her, and she wasn't sure what to do with everything she'd just heard. He was silent for so long that Felicity was beginning to feel drowsy again.

"Then I'll have to make sure she doesn't walk away until I'm ready to live without her," he said quietly.

"Are you ever going to be ready?" Dig asked.

Another long pause. Felicity started to drift off, but she just barely caught his answer before she fell asleep.

"I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5--Red-Handed

_**(A/N: Mostly written in an hour. Then it took me about four more days to figure out how to end it. :P)**_

**FF #5: Red-Handed**

Felicity never wore green. Enough people knew she worked with the Arrow already—she wasn't about to advertise it. She missed it, though. She looked awesome in bright colors, and there was a cute kelly green sweater in the back of her closet that she just hadn't been able to let go of yet.

The longer she went without wearing the color, the more Felicity missed it. Her eye was constantly drawn to all things green, but it lingered on the brighter shades as well as the deep green of Oliver's Arrow suit. Over the two years she'd worked with him, her resistance had crumbled bit by bit until, she noticed as she sat in her living room wearing the cute sweater and a pair of fuzzy green socks, she was surrounded by green.

But what did it matter? She never had visitors. She often had tea with her neighbor, Mrs. Shoemaker, but she always went to the other woman's house. Diggle had been a regular fixture after the earthquake and Oliver's disappearance, but those visits had mostly ended when he'd reconciled with Lyla. Oliver hadn't been there since the night they shared the bottle of wine he'd once promised her. She was safe from prying eyes.

As Felicity looked around, though, she realized she might have gotten carried away. All the throw pillows were green, and so was the blanket draped over the back of the couch. A green glass filled with Diet Coke sat on the coffee table. The spare tablet she always kept at home had a green case. Currently she was staring at the green dress she'd bought the day before, trying to talk herself into returning it.

Felicity had laid the dress out on one end of the couch, as if seeing it in all its glory would somehow make the decision easier. It shouldn't have been so difficult, logically speaking. Her impulse buy was fancy and period, an empire-waisted, cap-sleeved affair that was more fitting for a Jane Austen ball than a Queen Consolidated function, neither of which she was going to be attending any time soon.

A foghorn blast jerked her out of her thoughts and about a mile out of her skin. It had been fun to rig the doorbell to sound different than a regular doorbell, but since it could barely be heard outside, it was funny only to herself, and her amusement began to pall after the bell had once startled her out of a dead sleep.

Felicity got up and checked the peephole. Oh, crap. It was Oliver. She glanced over her shoulder at the explosion of green. She would never hear the end of it. Oliver's mouth would do that adorable thing where just the corners quirked upward. Dig would smirk, and Roy would have an arsenal of sarcastic, embarrassing comments.

"Felicity?" he called.

"Just a minute!" she cried.

In one frantic leap, she crossed the room, skidding a little on the hardwood floor. She spread her arms wide and gathered up pillows, blanket, and dress in one big green pile, which she hurled into the dining room. She slammed the door shut and raced back to the entryway, where she slipped in her sock feet and crashed into the front door.

"Felicity?"

He sounded worried this time, so she flung open the door before he could do something crazy like breaking it down.

"Uh, hi!" she said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to look casual.

"Are you okay?" he asked, eyes full of concern. "I heard . . . something."

"Yeah, it was me. Hardwood floor, socks," she said, pointing down. At her _green_ socks. Damn.

Oliver didn't seem to notice. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Should you grab a coat? And some shoes, maybe?" He frowned. "You didn't forget, did you?"

"Possibly," Felicity replied. "Give me a second to remember."

"Dinner. You, me, Dig, Lyla, Roy. Does any of this sound familiar? Did you hit your head when you crashed into the door?"

"No." She punched his arm. "I remember now. I was just distracted. I'll go get my shoes and coat. And my phone . . . and my keys."

Oliver smiled. "I can wait."

Felicity's gaze drifted to the dining room. The door hadn't latched—it stood open about four inches, far enough to see a vibrant splash of green. She quickly averted her eyes.

"I'll just . . . You wait right here," she said.

Felicity walked up the stairs sedately, but as soon as she was out of sight, she ran to her bedroom. The fuzzy green socks were strictly for the house, so she stripped them off and shoved her bare feet into a pair of purple sneakers with—ack!—bright green laces. Her coat was in the closet downstairs, and her phone was . . . . She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. Her phone must have ended up in the pile of green stuff she'd swept off the couch.

Downstairs, she retrieved her coat from the hall closet and looked around for Oliver. _Crap_. The dining room door was open wide, and he was down in a crouch, rooting through all the green stuff she'd thrown in there.

"All right, you caught me red-handed," she said. "Or green-handed, I guess."

"Is that what you were doing when I called your name?" he asked, rising from his crouch with her phone in his hand. "Hiding everything green?"

"Um, yes?" She shoved her arms into her coat and began buttoning it up. "I know it's weird, but I can't wear green out of the house, and I miss it, so I just kind of . . . I went a little overboard."

"Felicity, nobody said you couldn't wear green. I don't have a monopoly on the color." He handed over her phone. "It was ringing."

She glanced at the display, shook her head, and dropped the phone into her pocket. Oliver took a step toward her and reached to turn down her coat collar. He lingered in her personal space just long enough for a blush to rise to her cheeks.

"Ready to leave the Emerald City?" he asked.

Felicity rolled her eyes. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Oliver smiled. "Nope. Not for a long time. Green looks good on you."


	6. Chapter 6--In the Dark

_**(A/N: I wrote half of this during church this morning. I think God was probably rolling his eyes. :P)**_

**FF #6: In the Dark**

Oliver has a hard time being alone with Felicity now. The moment Diggle moves out of earshot, the weight of everything said and unsaid settles between them, a thick curtain that separates, and muffles every interaction. If the last confrontation with Slade taught him anything, it's that Oliver made the right decision to keep his relationship with Felicity a friendship and a partnership, nothing more. He might think it couldn't get worse than seeing her with a sword at her throat, but every time in his life he'd thought things were at rock bottom, he would be unpleasantly, horribly surprised.

The problem was, their exchange that night in his former home had unlocked something inside him. The words were out, and even though Felicity didn't believe them, Oliver knew he had spoken the truth. It had been an indescribable relief to give voice to one of the deepest secrets of his heart. Most of the secrets he still kept from her and Diggle were dark, shameful things he was not ready to admit. But loving Felicity—finally saying it—was easy, and it was beautiful.

It was also dangerous. Oliver's declaration had complicated matters rather than resolving them. He couldn't look at Felicity without picturing her face that night—the brief flicker of hope in her eyes. Hope reflected in his own heart, hope that whispered, _Someday_. It's unfamiliar territory, hope, and he likes it. Probably a little too much. So he decides he has to stop touching her.

Oliver has always been somewhat deliberate when he's touched Felicity. Safe places—her shoulder, her elbow—and nothing that lingers too long. Of course there have been exceptions, touches she initiates—bear hugs, grasping his hand. They're usually during or after life-or-death situations, and he tries not to wonder why it takes such an extreme for her to touch him.

But he's stopped now, and this is also complicating things. He knows Felicity has noticed, but he's keeping her in the dark. God knows what she must be thinking. Oliver's new rule has effectively cut off a means of communication between them. How can he articulate everything those touches said? _I'm here. We're alive. You're safe. I meant it_. He's tried telling her with his eyes, but obviously that's not working, or she would have believed him that night at his house.

It isn't safe to touch her anymore. Something fundamental has changed for him, and now every glance at Felicity, every thought of her, is charged with possibility. A touch, however innocent, could set them both ablaze.

But now _not_ touching her seems almost as dangerous. Oliver hadn't realized how much those moments of contact grounded him. They pulled him out of his thoughts, out of his own despair, and reminded him that this (_this_, he would think so loudly as to almost speak, staring down at Felicity's small hand in his) was worth fighting for. Now he waits until he thinks he can't stand it a moment longer, and then he reaches for her. Now he hugs her. And every time he does, he knows he's crossing a line, and that if he crosses it enough times, he will smudge it out of existence.


	7. Chapter 7--Illusions

_**(A/N: I could have made this longer, but it took just about an hour, and I'm trying harder now not to blithely break the rules. :P)**_

**FF #7: Illusions**

In hindsight, she should have known something was wrong. Really wrong. But she'd been in full rant mode, and it was hard to stop once she got going. Felicity was mostly over the break-up with Ray, but whenever a story hit the news that was obviously his doing, she'd get angry all over again about how much he'd hidden from her, and how blind she was not to have suspected.

The stomach pain had gotten bad enough that she couldn't hide it anymore, and when Dig asked her what was wrong, she jumped up from her chair and started pacing. She'd totally gone off on Ray's whole "in order to protect you, I have to lie to you on a daily basis" thing, and her anger was manifesting physically, which was a well-documented phenomenon. She'd just started on his stupid-looking costume ("It looks like something a four-year-old would draw—but a four-year-old would remember the cape") when a vicious cramp bent her over double. She was trying to remember how to breathe when Diggle scooped her up and took her to the hospital.

Morphine was kind of amazing. She could almost forget that it felt like her appendix was trying to claw its way free from her body. Then she started hallucinating. Felicity was pretty sure she knew it was happening, because she saw six Diggles and that just wasn't right. Too many pairs of bowling ball-sized arms. And there were two of Roy, which didn't make sense. Why six Diggles but only two Roys? She was going to ask, but she got distracted by the glowing green rabbits hopping around their feet. But it was after her boys were shooed out and she was whisked off to pre-op when things got weird.

Suddenly Oliver was there. But he wasn't supposed to be. He couldn't. He was on some super-secret solo mission for ARGUS as a favor to Amanda Waller. She had unfrozen the Queen family accounts and refitted the new lair, and she expected repayment in the form of Oliver doing her bidding whenever she asked. It sucked, and something would have to be done about it, but Felicity figured it could wait until she wasn't surrounded by morphine-induced illusions.

_Vivid_ illusions. There was only one of him, but he was _so real_. Felicity felt his hand squeeze hers. When he bent down to whisper in her ear, she could smell him. But he shouldn't be there—he couldn't be real. And the things he was saying to her . . . they couldn't be real. They were things she was sure Oliver had never said to anyone, things Ray certainly never said to her. They were _promises_, sweet and hopeful, and they hurt her heart in a way that the morphine didn't touch because they weren't—they couldn't be real.

She didn't realize she was saying it out loud, over and over, until Oliver reached down and caressed her cheek, a gesture he'd only made once before. The last time she was high on pain medication, in fact.

"It's real," he said in that almost-whisper that was just for her.

"Why now?" she asked. She didn't entirely believe him, but she was going to get some answers, even illusory ones.

Oliver smiled, and that made her heart hurt in a different way. A beautiful way.

"I guess major surgery makes me brave," he said.

"I'm still not convinced you're real," Felicity mumbled. "You shouldn't be here."

"This is exactly where I should be, and I'll be happy to convince you I'm real when you wake up after surgery."

A lump formed in her throat. "What if I don't wake up?"

"You will. They're just taking out your appendix."

Felicity shook her head. "What if I die thinking my mind was playing tricks on me?"

"You won't die, Felicity," he said softly.

"Those things you just said . . . if I don't remember them when I wake up—"

"I'll remind you."


	8. Chapter 8--Nothing to Hide

_**(A/N: I guess I'm not done with this kind of scenario yet because I keep writing new ones. Some wonderful person gave me the first line as a prompt last night on Tumblr. Bless them-it was just what I needed to get going. Now I'm back to being only two weeks behind!)**_

**FF #8: Nothing to Hide**

"Why is my desk chair in three pieces?"

Oliver's head snapped up.

"And why are you behind my desk?" Felicity asked. "Are you . . . were you hiding?"

"Of course not," Oliver scoffed.

"Then explain the travesty that is my chair, please."

"There was an incident," said Diggle. "Involving those." He nodded over his shoulder at the tractor tire Oliver sometimes liked to whack with a sledgehammer.

Felicity gasped. "It's not taken apart, then? It's _broken_?"

"Yeah, and for once, it wasn't my fault." Roy peeked out from behind a training dummy. "So I'm just gonna go. Give 'em hell, Blondie." He clapped her on the shoulder and then scurried up the stairs.

Felicity turned to face Oliver. "If you've got nothing to hide, then explain," she said. "The truth, please."

"I may have lost control of the sledgehammer. A little bit." He wasn't looking her in the eye, but at some spot on the wall over her left shoulder.

"That doesn't sound like you. That sounds more like something Roy would do. How'd it happen?" she asked.

"I was distracted," he replied.

"By what? A dancing clown with a flamingo on its head?"

She crossed the room and knelt to examine what was left of the chair. When she looked up, she saw . . . was Oliver Queen _blushing_?

"Was it a naked dancing clown with a flamingo on its head?" she asked.

"What is it like inside your brain?" Diggle muttered, shaking his head.

"No one was naked!" Oliver half-shouted.

Felicity stared at him.

"You better tell her, man," Dig said to Oliver. "Your embarrassment is nothing compared to the wrath she could still unleash."

"I'm glad you have a healthy respect for my skills," Felicity said. "If it wasn't a naked clown, what was the big distraction that would send a sledgehammer flying fifteen feet across the room to destroy my beloved chair? I've seen the destruction—you have nothing to hide now."

Oliver mumbled something inaudible.

Felicity cupped her hand around her ear. "What was that? I didn't catch that."

"It was you."

She nodded in understanding. "You were ranting about Ray again, huh? You know, rage is a totally acceptable response to betrayal. I mean, I felt like putting my fist through a window. I still do sometimes."

Dig smiled. An indulgent smile, one that she often found really annoying.

"I'm not kidding," Felicity continued. "I know it's hard to picture. I don't strike most people as the angry, destructive type, but boy, was I furious. I might have even thrown something. More than one thing, as a matter of fact."

"What did you throw, Felicity?" Diggle asked.

Oliver seemed to be collecting himself, steeling his thoughts with deep breaths through his nose. But it wasn't really working—he was snorting like a mad bull.

"I threw pillows," she admitted. "And this dumb penguin he won me at a street fair. He used his powers to win it. I ended up giving it to the little girl who lives across the street from me."

"Cute," said Dig.

"It wasn't cute," Felicity replied. "It had this creepy look on its face, like it was giving me the stink-eye. Oh, I should have given it to you for the baby," she said to Dig.

"Not if it had a creepy stare. Don't want the kid to have little penguin nightmares."

She shuddered. "Good point."

"Speaking of, Lyla has a doctor's appointment, and I'm going to be late." He leveled Oliver with a stony stare. "Tell her," he said.

When Diggle had left, Oliver sat down in the totally uncool, non-Felicity, not ergonomic chair and ran a hand over his face.

Felicity approached him. "Okay, Oliver, you're starting to freak me out. What's going on? What really happened?"

He took another deep breath, still not meeting her gaze. "Diggle and I were talking while I was working out. Just talking about normal stuff. Lyla, and the baby, and whether or not he can put together a crib without crushing the pieces in his giant hands . . ."

Felicity smiled.

"So I was asking him, 'How do you do it? How do you create a life for yourself when what you do is so dangerous? How do you justify the risk?' And he said, 'You don't justify risks. If it's important, if it means everything, you take the risk.' And I said, 'What means everything to you?' And he said I should be asking myself that."

He covered his face with both hands. He was blushing again. It was really something to see, but it almost made Felicity feel as if the world had suddenly tilted sideways. She was totally unprepared.

"The thing is," Oliver continued, his voice slightly muffled, "I know the answer. I have for a while. And I told him that."

"And?" Felicity prompted him after he lapsed into silence.

"And he said he knew too. Because of course Diggle knows everything. He said . . . He said that a life with someone—that's it not all up to me. It . . ."

Felicity felt sick. He was seconds away from telling her he was going back to Laurel. Or Sara. How creepy was it that she had no idea which Lance sister it might be? Maybe they were interchangeable, like Barbie heads.

She wanted to turn and run up the stairs, but this was her friend. Her best friend. And he was pouring his heart out to her. Oliver was actually talking about his feelings. She drew his hands down from his face, and he grasped her fingers like they were all that was keeping him from falling off a cliff.

"It's also up to the other person," she supplied. "Right? I wasn't there, but I bet that's what Dig said."

The next words Oliver spoke tumbled out in a rush. "Yeah-he-said-that-and-then-he-told-me-to-just-ask-you-out-already."

Felicity blinked a couple of times. She looked at him, and then she looked down at their joined hands.

"And that's when I let go of the sledgehammer mid-swing. So would you go out with me, Felicity?"

The world tilted sideways again. She felt dizzy. There was a roar in her ears like she was holding up a seashell and listening in, only amplified.

A minute or two passed, and Felicity realized she was sitting. Somehow their positions had reversed, and she was sitting in the lame chair with Oliver standing in front of her, still holding both of her hands in his.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended," he said.

"Why?"

He smiled. Now that he'd thrown it out there, he seemed much more relaxed. It was her turn now to be totally freaking out on the inside.

"Because apparently the idea of us dating made you almost faint." He squeezed her hands and then placed them gently on her lap before letting go. He turned away.

"Oliver, wait. Where are you going?" she asked.

"Home, to pout and feel sorry for myself," he said, his back still turned. "Maybe I'll take a page out of your book and process with some ice cream. I'm okay. I'm not mad or anything. I just—I just wanted to give you the choice."

"Oh. Well, if it helps at all, I was totally going to say yes before I blacked out."

Oliver turned around. Felicity felt a little smile work its way across her face.

"That does help," he said. "Do you want me to ask you again?"

"Oh, God, no. Don't put either of us through that again. I'd faint for real, and you'd probably throw up or give yourself an aneurysm or something," she said, shaking her head. "Why are we both so worked up about it?"

His answer was so quiet, Felicity wondered later if she really had actually heard it, or if she'd just imagined it.

"Because it matters," he said. "Because it means everything."


	9. Chapter 9--Sleepless Nights

_**(A/N: Another one. Special thanks again to thatmasquedgirl. Y'all should give her some love because without her, I wouldn't have posted half the stuff I have.)**_

**FF #9: Sleepless Nights**

It had been a week of sleepless nights. A whole week of curling up in the weirdly shaped chair next to the bed and closing her eyes fruitlessly. Seven days craning her neck to stare up at the TV bolted to the ceiling, watching CNN and old sitcom reruns on TVLand, of ordering meals for one from the cafeteria menu and then losing her appetite when she eyed the feeding tube, of endless cups of coffee and cans of Mountain Dew from the tiny kitchen off the ICU waiting room.

Seven days in silence, seven nights watching his chest rise and fall, wondering if he would wake up, or if it would always be like this, or if the _beep-beep-beep_ of the heart monitor would become one long tone.

Anger would come later, anger at the person who had done this, who had forced Oliver into an impossible situation. For now there was only the agony of seeing him in limbo, with machines breathing for him, feeding him, watching over him.

There was no one else, and that thought came with its own brand of sorrow. No Moira, no Thea, not even Diggle. He stopped by, of course, every day, to make sure she was eating at least a little bit, to bring her clothes and library books that she would open and then not read. But he couldn't stay long, not with a new baby at home, and Felicity never would have asked him to.

This night had been the worst. The doctor had interrupted dinner—a cheese enchilada she was mostly just picking at—to tell her he was concerned that Oliver had not woken up yet. They planned to remove the breathing tube briefly the next day to see if he would start breathing on his own. Felicity had shoved the plate away, her miniscule appetite completely gone.

The TV was on, but the volume was low, and Felicity wasn't watching it. She sat in the chair with her legs drawn up, her chin resting on her knees. She was so, so tired but terrified of losing him while she was asleep, so she continued the struggle to keep her eyes open.

The room always felt a little too warm to her, and that wasn't helping. She raised her head and put her feet on the floor, intending to get another cup of coffee, when his hand twitched in hers.

It had been hard for her to hold Oliver's hand at first. Partly because it took a while to sink in that he wasn't going to wake up right away. And then there was the fact that an IV was coming out of the hand closest to her. The first time her fingers brushed over the port, her stomach rolled and she had to leave the room for a moment. But once she'd learned to steer clear of that, Felicity had held his hand nearly every minute she was awake.

His fingers twitched again and she dared to look at his face. His eyes were still closed, but was she seeing movement there?

"Oliver?" Her voice was rough as if she'd been asleep for hours. "Oliver?"

He squeezed her hand, and it almost made her jump. She looked down at his hand, squeezed back with both of hers. The plum nail polish she'd been wearing that night was mostly gone. She'd picked at her nails in the ER waiting room as Diggle had tried to convince the staff to let at least one of them back to see Oliver. His hand was huge, but his fingers were long and slender. And they were definitely squeezing back.

A quick call to the nurse started a flurry of activity. Oliver's reflexes were checked, his eyes, his blood pressure, his pulse. The breathing tube was removed while Felicity still stood there, Oliver squeezing her hand so hard that it brought tears to her eyes. In another few moments, everyone was gone. The doctor had been paged but hadn't arrived yet, and they were alone again.

"Felicity?" He opened one blue eye, then the other, squinting.

She half-stood to reach the light over the bed and snapped it off. "I'm right here," she said.

"Why?"

That made her laugh. "Are you kidding? Where else would I be?"

"With Ray."

Her eyes widened. "Oliver, you know that ended months ago, don't you? Ray doesn't even live in Starling City anymore."

"Oh." He frowned. "Yeah, I knew that. I just—I still expect you to go to him when things get bad, I guess."

"But I never did," Felicity replied. "That was part of the problem."

"I thought you broke up with him because he lied to you about who he was . . . what he could do." He was searching her face—she wondered what he hoped to find there.

"That was the main reason. But also because I didn't go to him when things got bad. Or even when things were good. He was never my first call."

"Who was?" But by the look on his face, he already knew damn well who.

"Stop smirking, Oliver. You know you are."

His grin widened, and she couldn't help smiling back. It was his smile that had finally clued her in. One night, months after she and Ray had called it quits, Oliver smiled at her. For no reason, really, but it dawned on her that he was looking at her the same way he had on the beach after they dropped off Slade. When she had given him an out and he hadn't taken it.

"You don't look well," he said, the grin disappearing. "Are you—were you hurt? I don't remember. I don't even—"

"I'm fine," said Felicity. "I was a little sore, but you were the one who took the brunt of the crash. You lost consciousness, and this is the first time you've been awake since then. You scared everyone. You scared _me_, and I'm not happy about it."

"But you look . . . Have you been sleeping?" Oliver asked.

"Well, no. Would you be able to? If it was me?"

"No. I would have worn a hole in the floor pacing."

"You would have done that thing with your fingers," she said, taking them as she talked about them, and curling them to imitate the bowstring-plucking motion he always made when he was worked up or nervous.

"You weren't hurt at all? It's just from not sleeping?" he asked.

"And not eating much. And not leaving the room. I haven't seen the sun in a while," she said. "Do I really look that awful?"

There it was again, that beach smile. Like he was just basking in front of a fire and feeling absolutely content. It was powerful. And sweet. And more than a little scary.

"You're always beautiful," he said. "I don't remember. Did you—did you answer before the crash?"

Trust him to remember _that_ part. Felicity had been thinking about that conversation for days, playing it over and over in her head. She'd come up with a thousand ways to respond, but none of them seemed right.

"Do you remember me telling you I was really scared?" she asked.

Oliver nodded solemnly. "You were afraid it would change things. In a bad way. And that it could end badly, like your parents. I'm pretty sure you said something unflattering about my relationship track record too."

Her cheeks flamed.

"It's okay. It's the truth." He was still smiling, which was making it hard for her to think, but his eyelids were drooping. "And I said it could just be one date. If we had one date, and you didn't want a second one, I wouldn't pressure you, and we wouldn't even have to talk about it again."

"That's where the conversation ended," said Felicity.

"Could you answer me now?" he asked, a slight pleading note in his voice. "Before I fall asleep? What were you going to say?"

But his eyes were shut now. Waking up from a weeklong coma was hard work. She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I was going to say yes," she whispered.


	10. Chapter 10--Stroke of Luck

_**(A/N: This story contains spoilers for Season 3, so if you haven't watched the trailer and talk coming out of Comic-Con, beware of spoilers. MUCH thanks to thatmasquedgirl, who helped me get unstuck when the writing came to a grinding halt about 450 words in, and then read more than one draft afterwards. Which totally breaks the one-hour rule. Oh well. This story also has a playlist that I listened to while writing the first draft. It appears at the end. And the quote Oliver mentions is from a book called Observatory Mansions, by Edward Carey.)**_

**FF #10: Stroke of Luck  
**

"_People tend to think that happiness is a stroke of luck, something that will descend like fine weather if you're fortunate. But happiness is the result of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly." –Elizabeth Gilbert_

It didn't start out as a strategy. It started with him grasping at straws, desperate to cheer her up, because seeing her gloomy didn't just hurt—it wasn't _right_. It felt as if a fundamental law of the universe had been turned upside-down. _He_ was supposed to be the gloomy one.

So he asked Felicity out.

Not on an actual date. Oliver had learned a few things from his misspent youth, and he knew better than to approach her so soon after a breakup. But that didn't mean they couldn't do something together as friends, and it was clear to him that he needed to step in. She had spent far too many nights moping in the Foundry, come in to work too many mornings with dark circles under her eyes.

Oliver rang her doorbell early on a Saturday morning. Early for normal people. He'd actually been awake since 3:30, rehearsing what he would say, trying to hit just the right note between casual and concerned. He didn't count on Felicity starting out mad at him for waking her up so early.

"Oliver!" she'd exclaimed after she'd thrown open the door. "The sun isn't even all the way up yet, let alone me. What are you doing here? Why didn't you call first?"

He smiled, taking in her pajama-clad figure, her long tousled hair, her eyes not hidden behind glasses. "I figured it would be harder for you to say no in person."

"Say no to what?"

"To getting out of the house. But if I'm lucky, you're not going to say no." He stepped forward, but she put her hand on his chest to stop him.

"Maybe I am," said Felicity. "It's early. I haven't had coffee yet. My alarm hasn't even gone off. It's early, and I did mention the lack of coffee and how early it is?"

"If you let me in, I promise our first stop will be for coffee. At that place you like so much," Oliver said.

"The Brew." Eyes closed, she leaned against the doorframe. "Mmmm, coffee made by someone else. I could handle that." She opened her eyes and squinted at him. "But what am I getting dressed for?"

When he wasn't rehearsing what he'd say, he'd spent a lot of time in the middle of the night wondering whether or not to surprise her. In the end, he'd decided against it. She wasn't in a state to be surprised. It reminded him of a quote he'd read somewhere: "Suspense was bad for our unfit hearts."

"There's a farmers market just outside the city," Oliver told her.

Felicity steepled her fingers under her chin. "So. Outdoors. And comfortable shoes." She held the door open, and he followed her inside.

"You can wait in the living room," she said. "I guess you're going to get lucky."

She was halfway up the stairs before she realized what she'd said. She leaned over the bannister. "Not that you are. Not like that, not 'getting lucky' getting lucky."

Oliver grinned as she blushed.

"I just meant I was saying yes," she continued. "To going out with you. Not 'going out with you' going out, because this is not a date. Dates for us end in explosions and head wounds and sacrifices of happiness . . . And I really need to stop talking now." Felicity ran up the stairs.

Her reference to their first and only date was like a sucker punch to his stomach. He had fallen all over himself trying to ask her to dinner. But he had proven once again that he had the worst kind of luck. Their perfect night had ended in fire and blood—her blood. Seeing her lying unconscious on the med table, knowing that Oliver Queen, not the Arrow, was responsible, he had done exactly what she had just said. He had sacrificed his happiness to protect her.

These were not pleasant thoughts. He had only recently decided that he was still human enough to deserve some measure of happiness, and that he wanted it with Felicity.

Oliver walked around the living room to distract himself. He had been in her home a few times, but on most of those occasions, he had climbed in through her bedroom window to check on her after she'd been injured. He'd never been inside long enough to take in much.

Now he saw that her living room was cozy, and so very much Felicity, from the ridiculously comfortable couch to the bright throw pillows to the framed photos scattered on every surface. Many of the pictures were candids of himself and Diggle, Roy, and Sara, and even a selfie Felicity had taken with Nyssa. The few unfamiliar shots featured a younger, darker-haired Felicity—he assumed they were from her time at MIT. He saw nothing from her childhood.

"Comfy shoes!" Felicity called out, bounding down the stairs.

Oliver straightened from where he had bent to look closer at a picture of himself squeezed between Diggle and Felicity, trying to determine where it had been taken. She hopped over the last step and came to stand next to him.

"That was at Big Belly," she said, indicating the photo. "After you came back from the island the second time."

He turned to her. She'd put up her hair in its usual ponytail, and she changed into jeans and a deep pink top. She was carrying her bag and a light jacket. Her eyes still looked a little bleary from sleep, but she was smiling, and she was beautiful. He bit down the compliment before it could escape from his lips. Too soon.

That was when Oliver moved from spontaneity to strategy. He decided that this outing would be the first step in a plan to woo Felicity.

It wouldn't be easy, and it would take some time. The pain of her breakup was still fresh, and he would have to convince her that he was serious, that he was ready to fight for his own happiness.

All of this passed through his mind in an instant as he turned and looked at her. She was still smiling.

"Let's go before I change my mind and go back to bed," Felicity said.

After stopping at The Brew to pick up a black coffee for himself and a triple-shot espresso with cream and sugar for Felicity, they drove to the farmers market. Oliver wanted to hold her hand as they walked, but he settled for getting her to take his arm. There was some babbling about him being her escort, and there was blushing all around, but they both relaxed eventually.

Oliver bought almond croissants from a bakery stall for breakfast. Felicity had never been to an outdoor market, but she quickly warmed to the experience. Somehow she'd gotten the idea in her head that every posted price was an invitation to negotiate. She let go of his arm to talk with her hands, and Oliver watched in amazement as she bartered lower costs for strawberries, cantaloupe, and peaches.

She took his arm again and sighed. "I guess we should do the sensible, grown-up thing and get some vegetables."

"We do have a growing boy to feed."

Felicity stared at him.

"Roy," he said.

She laughed then, and the world turned right side up again. Oliver realized then that happiness wasn't a matter of luck—it was a matter of effort, and he was ready to participate relentlessly.

Playlist

"Full of Grace"—Sarah McLachlan

"Fly-swatter Ice Water Blues"—Lyle Lovett

"All Fall Down"—OneRepublic

"Mysterious Ways"—U2

"The Longest Time"—Billy Joel

"I Know You By Heart"—Eva Cassidy

"Morning Song"—Jewel

"Here With Me"—Dido


End file.
